It gets very, very quiet at my place every second weekend.
Well, apart from the dogs barking at the possums in the backyard at 10pm at night and me yelling at them to SHUT UP and hosing them when they don’t.
Be grateful I’m not your neighbour.
Anyways, apart from that, the place is a bit of a morgue because the kids go to their dad’s on the Friday night and don’t come home again until the Tuesday night.
I can be a bit melodramatic during those weekends and start catastrophising about slipping in the shower and breaking my neck and no one finding me and dying and the police discovering me with no toes because the dogs started eating me.
Last weekend was one of those weekends.
I was getting ready for bed on Saturday night and putting on my nightie before supervising the dogs’ last noisy wee in the backyard when something bit me …
On the boob.
A very delicate part of the boob.
I think it must have been hiding in my nightie.
I couldn’t find it, but a rash started spreading all over my boob and I decided it might be fatal.
I couldn’t sleep because my boob was all hot and itchy and felt like someone had stuck a needle in it. Every 30 minutes I’d turn on the light and check it, convinced it would look like this …
… except with a nipple in the middle.
But it was just a garden variety red rash with a nipple in the middle.
Meanwhile, DD was having breakfast in London, unaware of my impending death.
After turning on the light for the third time to check my boob I texted him to say “If I die in the night tell them something bit me on the boob.”
He tried making jokes about boob bites, but I was having none of it. So he asked if there were puncture marks. How would I know???? I’m blind as a bat and I’ve lost my near-sighted glasses. So he told me to send him a picture … not a sexting conversation … but that does remind me I need to delete a rather graphic photo off my phone.
He couldn’t tell if I’d been bitten by a funnel web from my boob selfie and I eventually fell asleep, wondering if I would wake up in the morning.
Fortunately, as you can see, I did.
And I had the most unexpectedly hectic Sunday … with bonus sore, itchy boob …
I went to the gym. I went for a walk and coffee with my friend Wendy. I showed Wendy my boob rash and she said it didn’t look too bad and I assured her it looked much worse the previous night.
I was peeling off my sweaty socks when my sister called and said I should accompany her – and her husband – to the Opera Bar for champagne and hot chips.
We were supposed to walk her schnauzers, but that sounded like much more fun.
So I flung myself in the shower, tried on 50 outfits and discarded them all on the bed because they made me look fat and then finally pulled on the $12 elastic-waisted skirt I bought at Kmart on Saturday and jumped in the car and headed to her place. We caught a cab into the city and had the most lovely afternoon.
Afterwards, I popped into Woolies to get some supplies and discovered these babies …
They taste exactly like Chinese roast duck, it’s quite spooky.
And then I went to a Canadian dive bar called The Stuffed Beaver with my astronomer friend Orsola and tried poutine … chips with cheese curds and gravy … which turns out to not really be worth all the fuss I’ve been making about it for the last few months.
But I did quite enjoy sitting in a Canadian dive bar called The Stuffed Beaver, although I was a bit boozed out and stuck to Diet Coke … actually make that Coke No Sugar. Ewwww. Who decided that was a good idea? It’s horrible.
I finally crawled into bed at 10pm, fairly confident I wasn’t going to die in the night from my boob issue.
I may die of cholesterol poisoning from eating too many fried potatoes in a 12-hour period …
How was your weekend? Get bitten by anything?
Song of the day: Queen “Another one bites the dust”